Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/291

 The thousand decencies that shone With lessened lustre in their own; Which few had learn'd enough to prize, And some thought modish to despise. To make his merit more discerned, He goes to school — he reads — is learn'd; Rais'd high, above his birth, by knowledge, He shines distinguish'd in a college; Resolv'd nor honour, nor estate, Himself alone should make him great. Here soon for every art renown'd, His influence is diffus'd around; Th' inferiour youth, to learning led, Less to be fam'd than to be fed, Behold the glory he has won, And blush to see themselves outdone; And now, inflam'd with rival rage, In scientifick strife engage, Engage; and, in the glorious strife, The arts new kindle into life. Here would our hero ever dwell, Fix'd in a lonely learned cell; Contented to be truly great, In Virtue's best belov'd retreat; Contented he — but Fate ordains, He now shall shine in nobler scenes, Rais'd high, like some celestial fire, To shine the more, still rising higher; Completely form'd in every part, To win the soul, and glad the heart. The powerful voice, the graceful mien, Lovely alike, or heard, or seen; The outward form and inward vie, His soul bright beaming from his eye,